November 18, 2014 · 4:18 pm

Straight Off a Postcard

This past weekend, we set off on a short driving adventure north of Barcelona to a town called Figueres. It’s close to the French border, but still very much in the heart of Catalonia.

Only a week has passed since the “unofficial” vote in favor of independence for Catalonia, so the striped state flags and yellow signs proclaiming 9-N (as in the November 9 date of the vote) are still widely evident flying from balconies, polls, statues and just about anywhere else they can be tied down. With the Spanish government’s refusal to allow an official referendum or even discuss Catalonia’s concerns, it’s no surprise that the vote came up 80% in favor of independence and that the fervor is continuing to build. The push is bound to come to a head at some point.

Ninety miles from Barcelona, Figueres is a town of about 40,000 inhabitants, but it’s famous for one particular local son, the artist Salvador Dali. I’ve been trying to make it to the museum that he founded ever since we began considering a move to Spain. The timing was never right during any of our visits, but the stars finally aligned this past weekend in the form of a family adventure.

Although there is train service to Figueres, we decided to combine the trip with some local needs and rent a car for six days. It made perfect sense, especially since I found a car for just 20 Euros. I still have no idea how you can rent a car for six days for only 20 Euros, but then I haven’t returned it yet. My next blog entry may detail the laundry list of extra charges that quickly erases the bargain!
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So off we went in a micro-Toyota called an Aygo. Yes, an Aygo. Could it be a play on words from I Go? Or maybe it’s actually a pirate car – an Ayyyyyyy-Go, Captain. Either way, it’s about half the length of any real car and still barely fits in a European parking spot. In other words, perfect for the task.

Figueres is a quaint town with a historic square surrounded by lots of narrow streets that really are no more than alleys. Driving down any of these, I am again thankful for the diminutive nature of our ride.

Just up from the square is the colorful Dali museum. It originally was the town’s municipal theater until being burned late in the Spanish civil war. When the local mayor made a suggestion to Dali that exhibiting some art on the site would be a good idea, Dali ran with it and decided to revitalize the remains of the building into a museum that is a living piece of art. Not only was this fitting because Figueres is Dali’s hometown, but also because it is situated directly across from the church where he was baptized and is also the location where he held his first art exhibit decades before. Since its opening in 1974, the maroon building has stood as the most novel landmark in Figueres.

Although many of Dali’s most famous works were sold by him long ago and now reside in other museums, there are a number of interesting pieces here. A couple of large installations reflect his surrealist passions, including the Mae West Room and the Rainy Cadillac, which features a full-sized Caddy as its centerpiece. Despite the lack of key works, the museum is still well worth the visit to see works that span his lifetime and reflect his vision. Interestingly, Dali is also here, entombed in a wall in the lower level since his death in 1989.

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We topped off this pleasant visit to Figueres with a drive east to the coastal town of Cadaques. Adjacent to Cadaques is Portllagat, where Dali’s vacation home has been maintained as it was when he was alive. When visiting, there’s no question on why he picked Portllagat. The house is set on a beautiful inlet with calm, crystal clear water and dotted with little fishing boats. Even with two small hotels now sitting over it, it’s a breathtaking spot.

We ventured down into Cadaques to discover a Spanish coastal town straight off a postcard with angular whitewashed houses stretching up the hillside from the harbor. Halfway through a fresh lunch in a waterside restaurant, I was pretty much ready to put my feet up, order another bottle of wine and not leave for a week. This could definitely be the life. I have a feeling we will be back.

The list of places we want to explore in Spain probably won’t get any shorter for some time to come. Every time we check one off the list, we learn of another from talking to the locals. It’s tough work, but somebody’s got to do it.

RANDOM THOUGHTS: We were suitably proud of ourselves for managing to order four appliances and have them delivered and installed despite speaking virtually no Spanish. To make it more interesting, I now have also arranged servicing on the dishwasher twice. Finally, today we went back to the original store and managed to get them to order a replacement dishwasher (as advised by the service company) since the repairs are not solving the issue. All this, still with almost no Spanish. It’s remarkable what can be accomplished… From his first few weeks of school when he didn’t pick up any Spanish, Liam has suddenly turned into a Spanish explosion the last couple of weeks. Of course, there seems to be a fair number of invented words mixed in (at least, I think invented), but it’s still amazing to watch. The sponge is at work…

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November 11, 2014 · 8:38 pm

Rules are for Slackers

I have heard many times from those who have moved to the U.S. from afar about how hard it is to learn English, with most complaints focusing on the language having as many exceptions as it has rules. The Romance languages such as Spanish are said to be easier to master. Well, I’m calling crock on that claim.

While it’s still very much early days in my quest to pick up some Spanish (okay, maybe infantile days if you hear me talk), I’m not experiencing that straight linear line of simplicity these folks are suggesting. In fact, I’ll stake my claim that the logic backing up Spanish looks about as straight as a roundabout.

Let me be clear, this isn’t a specific criticism of Spanish, but more a comment on the reality that simple and logical are not terms I’d use when describing the self-imposed torture of expanding one’s language horizons. There are moments of tremendous pride as a concept is grasped, but also days when the experience is about as pleasant as sticking 14 feral tomcats in your shorts.

The first big hurdle, which I struggle with virtually daily, is the almost endless conjugation of verbs. For an English-speaker, the notion of altering a verb so that it also indicates whom you are speaking about is, to put it mildly, foreign. It really takes a while to wrap your head around this concept.

The challenge comes with the notion that there’s a different conjugation for each pronoun (I, he, she, us, etc.). They are lumped into six groups to simplify things a bit, but the six groups apply to every tense, meaning not only are there six conjugations for the present tense, but six for the past tense, six for the present perfect tense, six for the future tense, etc., etc. I’ve already counted 16 different tenses. For those math challenged, that works out to 96 conjugations. And that’s just for one verb! Think about how many verbs you use every day. If that doesn’t make you say “pass the wine,” nothing will.

To further complicate the picture, Spanish throws in a host of irregular verbs that conjugate in unusual fashion. The sudden appearance of an unexpected “g” or “i” does keep you guessing, no doubt about that. But it’s like alphabet Russian roulette.

Then there’s the fun concept that virtually every object should be masculine or feminine. I’m sure there’s an inherent logic that I haven’t learned as yet, but I would really like to glimpse inside the mind of the creative soul who determined a fridge is masculine and a mountain is feminine. On the seventh day did he come up with Chicken Fried Steak?

Usually, figuring out if an object is masculine or feminine is pretty straightforward based on it ending in an “o” or an “a,” but thanks to the Spanish sense of humor, there are also a bunch of words that toss this guideline out the window. Ah, rules are for slackers, right?

Making it even more fun are the words that can mean two different things. Comer is not only the verb for “to eat” but also a noun for lunch. At least that’s in the same general neighborhood for meaning, but take a word like metro, which carries the obvious meaning of subway, but also is the Spanish word for meter. Sounds more like a mile apart to me.

Then there’s nada, which means nothing as you might think, but can also be the verb for he/she swims. Hmm, clear as mud. Or how about coger, which can mean to take, but also to catch, to knock over, to pick up or, in the extreme, to have sex. Suddenly, taking a taxi home comes with a nudge, nudge, wink, wink.

Here are a few more of my favorite examples. Esposas can mean wives, but also handcuffs. Do I even need to elaborate on that one? Camello can be a camel, but also a drug dealer. Chorizo is a type of sausage, but also a pickpocket (maybe that’s the same depending on what he’s picking). Mono can be cute or monkey, so be careful what you say about the baby. Tiempo is the time or the weather (who has time for the weather, anyway). Cuarto is fourth, but can also be a room. And banco can be a bank, a bench or a fish tank.

In the spirit of learning new languages, I think the appropriate word at this point would be Oy!

Okay, to be fair, English is no walk in the park with the crazy “ph” making an “f” sound, the “i” before “e” except when we don’t feel like it rule, the fact there’s five vowels until we decide to throw in a “y” just for kicks and fun words like fish that are singular and plural all at the same time. I’m not going to argue that some guy on a day pass may very well be the mastermind behind English, but ease off on the lectures about the inherent logic found elsewhere. If you ask me, the scholars behind most languages seem to be having an awfully big giggle on all of us.

RANDOM THOUGHTS: I may have to look into my wife’s family lineage for signs of vampires, on the basis of her giving birth to a creature that never eats beyond sucking all the chocolate out of the middle of a croissant. The kid barely touches breakfast, skips lunch half the time and has dinner only under scowling protest. How can he never be hungry? If I tried that diet for three days, I’d end up chewing the leg off the first person who walked by me… One unfortunate Dominey family legacy is possessing smiles that could crack a camera lens. The curse re-appeared this week as my brother made the wise decision to marry a lovely lady named Sue. A beautiful wedding photo featured bride in white, family pooch handsome in a special occasion scarf and the usual oddball grin on my brother’s face. Fortunately, I know the legacy will have no effect on the years of happiness that surely are awaiting them…

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November 4, 2014 · 4:36 pm

Check One For Barcelona

Barcelona may seem like a straight outta left field pick as a city to live in, but it’s really not. When you start adding up checkmarks on the positive side of the ledger, Barcelona ends up scoring highly. It’s a bit of a secret gem with plenty to offer.

As Spain’s second largest city, it makes sense to assume there’s a big city pace of life, which was not high among my prerequisites for a destination. Really, I was leaning more toward a house on the beach than being in the middle of the city. But it has proven to be surprisingly livable for a metro. In fact, I’m often curious as to where its 1.6 million inhabitants are hiding, because the streets are rarely crowded. Finding another live body on a Sunday afternoon or in the peak of the August holiday season is about as likely as finding a liberal at a tea party rally.

Barcelona is also not only located on the Mediterranean, but is in fact the largest city on the sea and possessor of a thriving beach area. National Geographic and Discovery Channel named its waterfront as the best city beach in the world a few years back. That’s no small praise. There’s even a tiny slice of the beach reserved for nudists, although the first rule of nude beaches does apply; the last people you want to see naked are always the first ones to show up at a nude beach. The pricey rooms at the soaring W hotel overlooking the beach must come with a tad more panoramic of a view than one might desire.

Barcelona always appears on lists of unique cities. I’d vote it the most unusual large city I’ve ever been to in terms of architecture and design. It’s a city that prides itself on looking different than any other major metropolis. In fact, when you look at how diverse one building is from the next, it’s kind of like the lunatics broke out and got to run the asylum. But it all still holds together with a unique charm.

The cornerstone of Barcelona’s architecture is local son Antoni Gaudi, who designed a number of key buildings and attractions in the city. The most famous, and the most visited site in all of Spain, is Sagrada Familia. As remarkable as it sounds, Gaudi took over building this soaring Roman Catholic basilica in 1883 and it still isn’t complete. After weathering slowdowns including a lack of funding during his lifetime and the Spanish Civil War in the 1930s, the anticipated completion date for the church is now 2026 on the centenary of Gaudi’s death.
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Gaudi is lumped into a movement called modernism, but the mix of styles he uses runs a gamut. He broke from the norm during his lifetime, constructing from whatever material appealed to him, including waste ceramics. He was recycling long before the term became fashionable.

Parc Guell is another of his innovations. The novel attraction, set into a hillside in Barcelona’s historic Gracia district, is an eclectic mix of mosaic tile creatures, unusual geometric shapes and political and religious symbolism. Kids flock to it for a chance to touch the giant tile salamander drooling water on the park’s grand staircase. Above this is the main terrace, which is surrounded by a mosaic bench that curves and undulates around the open area like a sea serpent.

The views from the terrace across the city of Barcelona, including the spires of Sagrada Familia, are outstanding. It’s no wonder that many visitors find a nook in the curving sea serpent bench and relax for an extended rest on a sunny Barcelona afternoon. It’s a microcosm of how comfortable Barcelona can be as a home.

DSC_0266Of course, visiting with a five-year-old doesn’t always lend itself to deep introspection of the historical significance of Gaudi’s creations. Instead it features a rambunctious round of terrorizing unsuspecting pigeons while wearing a cape and plastic vampire teeth. Only the five-year-old mind knows for sure the reasoning, but there’s no arguing the logic when a breathless smile is the end result. There’s never a dull moment in a child’s life.

As we explore the city, there seems to be an endless number of squares brimming with that Old Europe ambiance that makes the continent so appealing. Each week we discover another park or museum designed with kids in mind, because family life is such a driving force in the Spanish culture.

Then toss in a few more reasons for Barcelona’s appeal, such as it’s central location that makes access to much of Europe so simple and weather that includes sun and temperatures pushing towards 70 even as November arrives, and you start to get the idea.

It’s not perfect, of course. Despite a great bus and metro system, there are days when I would like to just jump in the car. And I miss being able to load up on simple goods and fresh fruit on the cheap with a trip to Costco, although who knows what chemical concoction allows them to sell the same perfect peach nearly all 12 months of the year. It’s an adjustment to go back to buying fruits and veggies in season again.

As I said when we embarked on this, it’s an experiment. A chance to compare the known with the unknown and see which wins. Checkmarks are being added to both sides of the ledger, and it’s going to be quite the journey adding them up.

RANDOM THOUGHTS: Rule #47 of parenting. Incenting your child to motivate the right behavior is good. Telling him that good behavior on Saturday will mean he gets the toy he wants on Sunday is bad, as evidenced by the wakeup call that arrived in the dark at 6:30 a.m. Sunday morning… Sitting on the couch the other night, Liam suddenly formed his first sentence in Spanish out of the blue. He was a little lacking in a verb, but it was still an impressive effort. The sponge has started to work, and it’s remarkable to see.

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October 29, 2014 · 8:59 pm

Mirror, mirror on the wall…

With the three-month mark now moving into the rear view window, it’s time for a little reflection on this odyssey to Barcelona.

I knew from the beginning that relocating to Spain would be an adventure in every sense of the word. It incorporates all the typical pain of moving but dials it up a few extra notches when you add in the distance and a new language and culture. We invested plenty of hours upfront to plan for the myriad details and to minimize problems. And the net of these plans? Well, much like any big undertaking, things happen. Some anticipated, others not.

Really, very little has gone exactly as planned. Not that I’m unpacking the tiny violin and strumming a tale of woe. It really hasn’t been negative, but any big move is a package deal that comes with a rollercoaster ride of ups and downs. None of the surprises so far have been things that can’t be solved or were totally unexpected. Dealing with the movers turned out to be horrible, but that’s less than shocking considering movers have a reputation even worse than used car salesmen. Tossing in a few extra dollars made the issues go away (along a good release of swearing for personal benefit). And when living arrangements didn’t fall into place as quickly as hoped, it was aggravating but still light years better than actually being homeless. It’s all relative when you think about it.

Not surprisingly, at this stage in the process, the “if” question has been asked: If you could do it all over again… That’s never an easy one to answer.

I like to frame that answer in the words of others. In the weeks before we moved, it was fascinating to listen to people’s reaction to news of our impending departure. The phrase heard time and again was, “I could never do that.” That really stuck with me, probably because I had uttered the same words at one time. The reasons behind these words were valid and hard to argue with, but the real bottom line in most cases was more about willingness to take a leap than anything else. A body in inertia will stay in inertia, so to speak.

An international move certainly isn’t for everyone. Is it hard? Absolutely. Will it be unsettling? No question. Will there be days when a tiny, minimally important thing like finding a bottle of cold milk becomes the last straw that makes you want to beat your head against the wall? Oh yeah. (My kingdom for a cow!)

It really comes down to risk. I’m as nervous about taking risks as the next person and I can’t think of a single risk I’ve taken in the past that wasn’t tough. Changing careers was hard. Starting my own company was hard. Leaving friends and family behind to move to the US was hard. But not one of these risks turned out to be a bad decision. As much as we all hate the change that is inherent in taking a risk, it’s actually the engine that drives us forward.

I’m not trying to make myself out as hero here. Far, far from it. I’m not one of the pioneers or brave souls who are truly changing the world and impacting lives. I can name a dozen people around me who are far more willing to take risks than I, and they enjoyed some remarkable successes because of it. Some have also come crashing back to Earth painfully, which is the real reason why risk is so terrifying.

That potentially life-changing failure makes a compelling case to skip the potential for a life-changing success that comes with risk. For every reason to take the leap, there’s an equally valid reason to not. I tallied up with those reasons at every step in this process. The little voice in the back of my head kept asking why I wanted to volunteer for such a change and leave a comfortable existence behind. It’s awfully easy to listen to the voice, especially when you know taking that leap is not just about you, but also a little guy who puts all his faith and trust in you. I feel the weight of his world.

Kids are maybe the easiest reason not to take the risk, based on how it might affect them. But I’d argue they are also the biggest reason to take the leap because of what they might gain and the message it sends to them. If they really are destined to be a mini me of us, then living a life less ordinary is a pretty big gift to give. That’s the reflection I want to see coming back at me from those big, brown eyes.

RANDOM THOUGHTS: In the it’s funny what pop culture references stick with you category, the bellhop from the old British comedy Fawlty Towers keeps popping into my head. One of the famous lines from the show is, “Don’t mind him. He’s from Barcelona.” I may adopt that as a motto. It gives me free reign to wander around saying “que” and understanding very little. Actually, I think I’ve mastered that already… One experience this week I didn’t anticipate having: buying an entire tuna and then carting it home on the bus. This is not a moment you tend to envision for the coming years while climbing the corporate ladder. At least he was pretty tasty…

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October 24, 2014 · 4:31 pm

Settling the Stereotypes

Let me pass on some general observations concerning the Spanish. And by general I mean broad generalizations that pretty much boil down to pathetic stereotypes written for your enjoyment, or a cheap laugh if I’m lucky.

– The Spanish believe any meal is reason enough for a celebration, as evidenced by the sudden raucous lunch hosted by my ground floor neighbor this week. The motivation appeared to be that it was Thursday, which is as good a reason as any when you’re looking for one. Eight to 10 gents started to break bread around lunch hour, which is about 2:30 in these parts, and continued to spew conversation like Niagara Falls spews water until around 6:30. Just another Spanish lunch. Residing here means getting used to things taking a while to finish up.

– Consider these twin challenges to car ownership: you can literally buy a liter of wine for half the price of a liter of gas, even if it’s not exactly the king’s vintage; and the average parking space is about equal in size to a 1920s outhouse. It’s no surprise that most people favor small cars. That said, being surrounded by micro autos still takes some getting used to. I’ve literally seen an entire family disembark from a car I could swear was once a window display at Toys ‘r’ Us. But maybe the undersized nature of the cars has the added benefit of strongly encouraging a lack of oversized people. It’s pretty tough to grab a lift to work if you can’t even fit in the car.

– I’m guessing the tiny cars also contribute to the dearth of accidents here. I’ve yet to see a collision, even though Spanish drivers have a tendency to leave zero margin of error when passing other cars or pedestrians. Only the unwise fail to keep an eye on turning cars while crossing the road. If you want to shave a half-inch off your tail section, just dawdle a little in the crosswalk and a Fiat will take care of it.

– The Spanish do have a seemingly unending affection for pigs, and not just because of the cured Iberico ham that is tasty enough to bring a grown man to his knees. Even with my limited Spanish, I’ve already heard four different names for pig. That’s quite the love affair with the porker, and it shows in meat that is tender and among the best I’ve ever tasted. I’ll raise a curly tail to that.

– I had the misconception that Spaniards are loud and tend to gesticulate wildly with their hands, but there is little evidence here. Oh, the occasional din arises, and meal time sometimes is rather lively, but generally the locals seem awfully even tempered. The worst case of losing one’s mind I’ve seen so far came at a coffee counter in the airport, but I quickly realized the colorful soul behind the loud string of complaints was actually French. So much for stereotypes.

– I may be treading on the wrong side of the politically correct line here, but it’s remarkable that many of the convenience stores and the Spanish equivalent of dollar stores are run by immigrants, much like the same stores in the US, Canada and elsewhere. I’m sure there must be some economic logic that helps drives Asian and Indian immigrants into these businesses, although I’m not quite sure what it is. And, by the way, the term dollar stores is definitely a misnomer here. Even a simple extension cord is pushing five euros in these parts.

DSC_0152– Barcelonians also don’t appear to surprise easily, even when Batman made a recent appearance and proceeded to enjoy the midway at a local fair. Barely an eyebrow was raised. I guess costumed crimefighters are passé.

– What’s my new favorite brand recently spotted in a supermarket? Although it’s tough to top a Smeg washer or a Candy microwave, I’ve got to go with Wash Me laundry soap. There’s lots to be said for simplicity.

– The porter is our building is a very nice guy, but completely Spanish with nary a lick of English. He has been trying to pick up a few words, just as I’ve been doing the same with Spanish. Our morning routine has evolved into him greeting us with “Good Morning,” me responding with “Qué tal?” and Liam just looking a little confused at which side the fence he’s supposed to be on. It’s a work in progress.

– If anything here truly fits the Spanish stereotype it’s the post office. They work few hours, love to pull out forms for any task (even if you have a pre-printed label) and offer a service that is kind of like playing the lottery. Who will win a completed delivery today? We have at least two pieces of mail from America that are still missing in action after a couple of months. I hope Juan Carlos in Granada is enjoying his Spiderman stickers. If you added a jug of sangria on the counter and a bullfighter unfurling his cape in the corner, the post office would have every Spanish stereotype covered.

More to come on this little slice of espanol. It’s also a work in progress.

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